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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22590187">In a Minute There is Time</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingeverlost/pseuds/nothingeverlost'>nothingeverlost</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Peter Pan - J. M. Barrie, peter - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 13:35:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,169</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22590187</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingeverlost/pseuds/nothingeverlost</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Wendy, recently widowed, spends time every week at a convalescent hospital.  One of the wounded soldiers is a man who has no name, but she feels strangely drawn to.  A man they call Captain because all they know is that he was found in a field of battle in a captain’s uniform.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Wendy Darling/James Hook</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Adventures Within</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I will eat when I require substance madame and not before. I don’t give a damn about your timetable.” A tin bowl came flying out of the doorway, the gruel splattering on the floor but the bowl itself hardly the worse for wear. It was a good thing the hospital didn’t use china. Before Wendy could react a cup followed, leaving a puddle of water in the middle of the hall.</p><p>The nurse that came out of the room was flushed and only a moment away from tears. Wendy offered her a sympathetic smile. “New patient?”</p><p>“Patient isn’t the word for him, Mrs. Wendy. He has a temper when anything isn’t just the way he demands. He doesn’t know anything about himself but he knows what he wants, that one.”</p><p>“Shell shock?”</p><p>“We don’t know. He was brought in just a few days ago, found in a field of battle but no one knows who he is. All we know is his rank, so we’ve been calling him the Captain.” She sighed. “I just wanted him to eat something. He hasn’t since last night.”</p><p>“Could we have some biscuits, please? And two cups of tea if you can manage. I’ll see what I can do.” Her brothers even when being stubborn couldn’t say no to a good biscuit.</p><p>“I would hate to think what he might do with hot tea, mum.”</p><p>“I’ve had worse than a teacup thrown at me.” Wendy took a deep breath, a book held to her chest and a hand resting briefly on her belly. “Don’t fret, I’m used to recalcitrant boys.”</p><p>“Yes, Mrs. Wendy.”</p><p>Wendy stood where she was for a moment after the nurse left, listening to the grumbling inside that strangely reminded her of her father in his worst moods, when she was still a child and he had fussed so much more. Resolved, she put a smile on and stepped to the doorway of the small room.</p><p>“You’re not foolish enough to bring me more food, I trust?”  She had expected to find him in the bed, but he stood at the one small window in the room.</p><p>“I’m afraid I’m not so good at dodging dishes these days, Captain.  I brought a book, but I hope it won’t be joining your breakfast in the hall.”</p><p>“Your forgiveness, madame.  I presumed you were another of the nurses here to poke, prod, or feed me.”  To her surprise, he offered her a rather elegant bow.  She might have curtsied back if she thought her knees would bend so easily.  “You aren’t a nurse.”</p><p>“No, sir.  I come a few days a week to help write letters, read, and talk with the men.  I’m Mrs. Ormond but most people call me Mrs. Wendy.”  She preferred it.  Mrs. Ormond was so formal, and a reminder each time that there was no longer a Mr. Ormond.</p><p>“I have no need of any letters being written, but a book would be a welcome respite from the white walls and dull view.”  He held out a hand, his left.  It was only then that Wendy realized that it was his only hand; the cuff at the end of his right sleeve was empty.  She surrendered the bok to him.</p><p>“I have The Last of the Mohicans; Private Winston just finished it this morning.  It was a favorite when I was a girl; have you read it?”  It had been lonely, when she’d first moved from the nursery to a room of her own.  She’d spent long hours reading to try and make up for the missing sounds of her brothers’ breathing.  She had picked up Mohicans for the adventure of it, but for the first time had appreciated the romance too.</p><p>“One of the few advantages to my current situation is that every story is a new one.”</p><p>Wendy frowned, shaking her head.  “I’m sorry, I forgot.”</p><p>“As did I, madame.”  His brief laugh held a bitter edge.  “But I know that the feel of a book in my hands in familiar and pleasant.  The scent of the pages is a heady perfume that speaks of an adventure to be had.”</p><p>She had to smile when he held the book open and leaned in to inhale.  How many times had she done the same?</p><p>“I hope it’s an adventure you enjoy, Captain.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Ticking Clocks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>How time does fly when one has nothing to do but listen to the ticking of a clock.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“He was awake all night again,” one of the nurses told Wendy as she took off her coat.  They all knew that the amnesiac patient without a name was a special favorite of hers, though she was always kind to all the wounded soldiers.  Three days a week she came to spend time with them, reading letters from home for those that could not see, writing for those who had temporarily or permanently lost the use of their hands, soothing fevered brows and listening to those that needed to talk.  She was a great favorite of all the men.</p><p>So were her stories.</p><p>“I’ll go right up, if that’s alright?” she asked.  She was only a volunteer, after all, and was as kind to the nurses as she was the patients, always asking permission.</p><p>“It would be a kindness, Mrs Wendy.”  The nurse smiled and a soldier at the desk doffed his hat.  Wendy couldn’t help but think of Michael, in a uniform of his own.  She prayed for his safety, the safety that had been denied her husband.</p><p>Most of the men spent their time downstairs, in the library or the parlor, the game room or the dining room.  Those that were well enough might even spend hours in the garden.  Wendy knew better than to seek out the Captain in any of those places.  Wherever the others were, he was least likely to be.  He did not like spending time with the others. </p><p>The man had no name; Captain was the only honorific they had for him, and only that because he was found wearing a Captain’s uniform.  No one had claimed to know him and no unit had declared a captain missing, but it was war and that was no impossible.</p><p>“Captain?”  He stood by the window, looking out though she doubted he saw anything.</p><p>“Is it Wednesday, then? How time does fly when one has nothing to do but listen to the ticking of a clock.”  He did not smile; Wendy had never seen him smile.  Perhaps that was why she ached to see it.</p><p>“Is that what you listen to when you can’t sleep?”  The robe he wore was red and long, and had seen better days like most things nowadays.  Yes when he wore it she thought of elegance and red velvet.</p><p>“The death clock is ticking slowly in our breast, and each drop of blood measures its time, and our life is a lingering fever.”</p><p>“Don’t.  Please.”  She dared to touch him, just a hand on his left hand.  His only hand.  "You’re not dying, not now.“</p><p>"Madame, we are all dying.  It’s simply a matter of when.”</p>
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